What Would Lily Think?
by I'm Iller
Summary: Heine ties up Giovanni and gives the "sibling" a run for his money. Short one-shot written for the kink meme.


"Does it like it this way, Heine?"

The black dog inside Heine howls, _Tighter, tighter_. It tells him, as Heine tightens the metal on Giovanni's arms, _He likes it. He's always wanted this._

"The nasty dog inside you, Heine." Softly, Giovanni whispers, "Do you think Lily would have liked it this way...?"

While Heine is undoing his belt, he fumbles over the girl's name._ Lily watches_, the dog sneers._ Lily likes this, too. _Shuddering, Heine snaps the belt buckle out of the way and yanks the front of his pants open.

Giovanni is on the ground on his back, half way hidden behind the stone column to the right. Heine has a perfect view of those warped eyes, ones that look perpetually into any soul without even seeing, ones that stare forever.

"What would God think?" Giovanni asks in a hushed tone.

Heine says, "God doesn't exist," as he rips off Giovanni's pants, belts, underwear and all. He adds, "Only animals do."

This makes Giovanni smile, a wide one that shows a bit of teeth. "What would Lily think?" he whispers.

"Shut up!" barks Heine, slamming his fists, which are twisted into Giovanni's jacket and striped shirt, down into Giovanni's chest. Heine is close enough to breathe on Giovanni's chin. Heine's eyes burn. The dog inside him says: _Lily would like this_.

Heine mouths a, _No... _"Shut up." He raises his hands to press them against his forehead, to press them against the sockets of his eyes and his temples._ This is what he deserves. This is what trash deserves. _"No..."

"That's right," Giovanni coos, looping his lanky, bound arms down over Heine's head. "What would Lily think?" Giovanni leans close to Heine's ear. He whispers, "Of big brother Heine"-he lowers his voice-"fucking his sibling?"

Heine snatches his head back and shoves the arms forward, pinning them roughly back by the elbow so that Giovanni growls rather sensually. "Lily's dead," Heine murmurs.

This only prompts Giovanni to say, with a grin, "Because you killed her, Heine."

Vertigo hits Heine and, suddenly, he sees red. His grip on Giovanni tightens, but before he can bash the other's head repeatedly against the ground, the dog inside him pulls him back to reality with a snarling, wicked voice. He's hard, confined irritably in the black pants over his thighs even though the top is undone. He's hard and aching, with adrenaline bursting up through his chest. "I'll kill you, too," he growls at Giovanni. "When it's all over."

"You already have once, Heine." Giovanni smiles.

Quickly, Heine grabs Giovanni, twisting and yanking the blonde over in the other direction. Giovanni's arms are crushed, pinned, but Heine has a perfect view of that backside. He didn't wait for anything. He didn't say a word. He is frantic and jerky, and he really does mount the blonde much like a dog would. It is painful, but he likes it that way. He likes hissing in frustration when there's friction there to motivate him to be a lot more rough.

"You don't really make"-Giovanni pauses to groan, the sound of a wounded dog, of surprise and pain-"a good lover."

Heine continues his work, his dance, his angry business in silence. Giovanni takes it, purposefully making pleasurable and lewd sounds because he loves to hear the grunts of annoyance out of Heine.

"What would Lily think?" Giovanni gasps out occasionally. Sometimes, he'd say, "What would Mother think?" in a whispery, moany voice. "Heine," he'd say, "does the dog inside of you enjoy this? You let him out when no one can see, Heine. You let the black dog out; can you control it?"

By now, Heine is getting caught up in the sensations that the spine in his back wrap him in. His moans become I-hate-yous. His purrs become I'll-kill-yous. His fist is bunched in the back of Giovanni's jacket while the other pins Giovanni's waist to the ground. He snarls and growls, eyes burning, until he he thinks he can't go anymore, until he thinks the black dog inside of him is going to rupture his chest and walk among the living. Warmth draws a sharp grip over Heine's artificial spine, and he lets out a throaty howl as the dog inside him throws its head back in victory.

When it's done, Heine leaves Giovanni on the ground, tied, and soiled. He doesn't even say anything, though Giovanni beckons him to snap again, eggs him on about what Lily would think, what Mother would think, what all of his little rag-tag friends staying at the church would think.

Heine staggers out in a haze, regret at the back of his mind.


End file.
